


a beautiful, but somehow disturbing sight

by montecarlos



Category: Formula E RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Olympics, Alternate Universe - Skating, Gen, Ice Skating, M/M, Winter Olympics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-27
Updated: 2019-10-27
Packaged: 2021-01-03 20:35:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21185606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/montecarlos/pseuds/montecarlos
Summary: “I want to do the quadruple lutz,” Robin says quietly, his eyes flickering to fix on his coach.Ant looks pale at his words. “Nobody has ever done the quadruple lutz, Robin. Certainly not at an Olympic Games,”





	a beautiful, but somehow disturbing sight

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RaRaRaenbow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RaRaRaenbow/gifts).

> It's been a while since I wrote some Formula E fic, but it seemed like the perfect opportunity to do so before I get overwhelmed with work and my other commitments. This fic is for the wonderful Rae, who asked me for a Yuri on Ice inspired fic. I've never watched it but I hope you enjoy this, my love. Thank you for your support, love and friendship over the past few years. I love you lots. 
> 
> I'm an absolute novice when it comes to ice skating - so many of the steps I've pulled off wikipedia, though Robin's quadruple Lutz is lifted from Vincent Zhou's performance at the Olympics, whilst Nico's Pokerface routine is a nod towards Johnny Weir. The title comes from The Eve of the War, from the War of the Worlds soundtrack which was the inspiration for Robin's free skate routine.

“Hold still,” Antonio murmurs, his eyes narrowing as Robin wrenches his face away from the eyeliner pencil for the tenth time. “You can’t go out on the ice with uneven make-up,”  
  
“I don’t think the judges will care if one of my cat-eyes is bigger than the other, they’ll be more preoccupied on whether I can land my quadruple jump perfectly or not,” Robin huffs, flinching as Ant presses the pencil against the top of his eye. “Shouldn’t I be more focused on that?”  
  
“Humour me,” Ant says softly as he lowers the eyeliner pencil. “I know you’ll do amazing out there, you always do,”  
  
Robin tries to ignore the fluttering sensation in his chest at Ant’s words. He knows that they are just designed to get the most of him just before a performance - after all, Ant is his coach. It’s a strange arrangement, what with Antonio being younger than him, but an injury back in the 2010 Winter Olympics in Canada had shattered the Portuguese’s chances of ever competing at another event. Robin remembers it, like it was yesterday. He had been sat on the sidelines, his orange team jacket pulled up over his nose, having completed his own programme when he’d heard Ant’s bone snap clean in half even over the pounding music.  
  
She Wolf by Shakira, Robin remembers it well.  
  
The bone healed, but Ant’s career would not. He ended up coaching some of the junior Portuguese skaters at first, working his way through the ranks. Michael, Robin's coach, decided to retire at the end of the season, despite all of Robin’s begging to spend more time with his family - but he assured his young charge that he had the best ready to take over.  
  
“Hey,” Ant’s voice snaps Robin out of his daydream. He sounds even softer, his brown eyes locked on Robin’s blue ones. “You’re going to kill it, I know you will,”  
  
“I hope so,” Robin murmurs, finding his teeth catching on his lip. “You know how nervous I get before I perform,”  
  
“I do,” Ant says, his eyes moving to glance up at the leaderboard. “And Muller is only ahead by half a point. That’s definitely easy enough for you to beat if you nail the triple Axel landing,”  
  
“What did he choose to skate to this time? Can it be considered music?”  
  
“I think it was Pokerface this time actually,” Ant says, shaking his head. “I don’t want you to think about him right now, I want you to focus on your own routine,” His hand moves to slowly pull open the zip of Robin’s orange team jacket, the sequins on Robin’s shirt glitter in the sterile lights of the stadium. His smile is gentle. “Now get yourself to the warm-up area and get your skates on,” 

Robin half-heartedly allows Ant to pull off his jacket, trying to ignore the fluttering in his chest as his coach carefully folds up the orange material and hangs it over his arm. “I’ll be watching, Robin,” He calls out before he disappears into the crowd. Robin takes a deep breath as he slowly makes his way over to the warm-up area. He tries not to think about Ant’s warm brown eyes, about how carefully and slowly he unzipped Robin’s jacket -  
  
“Hey Frijns,” A overly-cheerful voice cuts through his thoughts. He glances up into icy, blue eyes. Nico Muller looks like every inch of the 2014 Olympic champion that he is - all dressed up in what appears to look like black leather, a lightning bolt decorating his left eye - glittery of course - the glitter trickling down to his slightly open shirt. He smiles widely at Robin, in an almost predatory fashion. “Were you taking notes on how to successfully execute a triple Axel jump?”  
  
Those words sting even now. Of course Nico would recall that moment in the last Olympics, when Robin had fallen as he’d tried to perform his triple Axel. He recovered, barely, but only managed to scrape bronze whilst the man standing in front of him ended up with the gold medal around his neck. “No, I was deafened by your terrible music choice,”  
  
“And what are you skating to? Silver Medal?” Nico asks with a smirk curling on his lips.  
  
“Not quite,” Robin bristles at Nico’s words as he pushes his way past the tall Swiss skater. He stops himself from brushing a hand through his hair, knowing that Ant will kill him if he messes up his perfectly-coiffed curls. He takes a deep breath, trying to calm his heart thudding against his ribcage. “You can do this,” Robin whispers to himself one last time before he steps out onto the ice. He takes his opening position before the opening bars of Dancing on my Own sounds through the arena and he allows the music to take over, allowing his body to take over, every note that Ant has ever corrected him on running through his mind -  
  
_ Keep your leg straighter. _  
  
Flying spin into step sequence.  
  
_ Land your jump combination with confidence. _  
  
He does, and he knows that he’s done enough so far to factor in a half-decent score. He just has to nail his triple Axel. He pushes Nico’s words to the back of his mind, sending a silent prayer up to the gods before he steers himself, bending his knees ready to perform the jump - he lets the music flow over him as he jumps, rotating up in the air - once, twice - but the ice floor is much closer than he remembers. He barely gets the final rotation in before he has to stick the landing - barely. It’s shaky, and he spots Antonio looking forlorn in the team area for a moment as the music fades away and he pauses in his closing position.  
  
He can hear the crowd’s screams and applause as he stands on the ice, soaking up the atmosphere as he tries to take a deep pull of air into his lungs, pasting on a smile for the cameras. He knows it’s not his best, but he hopes it’s more than enough to keep him in medal contention.  
  
Antonio is the first one to reach him as he slinks off the ice, pulling his orange jacket back around his shaking shoulders. His expression is one that Robin knows well - it’s one of disappointment. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what happened out there-” Robin begins, worrying his lip as he feels his cheeks redden.  
  
“Not now, Robin,” Ant murmurs, his eyes finding Robin’s. “Not until we know your score,” He guides Robin over to the kiss and cry area, his eyes fixed on the scoreboard as Robin glances down at his skates, his lip still caught between his teeth. Ant’s hand feels warm against the back of his neck, comforting and supportive, but Robin wants nothing more to lean into the touch further. He knows he shouldn’t. Antonio is his coach, and has never been anything other than strictly professional with him. He steals a glance at the Portuguese man, his brown eyes still fixed on the scoreboard, his fingers gently squeezing at Robin’s muscles.  
  
The score finally flashes on the screen. A full point behind Nico. Ant’s fingers gently brush over the nape of Robin’s neck. “It’s okay. We can work with that,”  
  
Robin still feels the guilt settle in the bottom of his stomach at the score. He knows he could have done better. It’s enough to progress onto the free skating part of the programme, but it’s not enough for the gold medal. Not yet, at least.  
  


* * *

  
“Don’t beat yourself up about it,” Antonio tells him later when they’re back in the hotel room. “It’s just a minor setback,” He passes Robin the cup of approved fruit tea - god, how he misses normal beverages - before he settles down in the chair opposite. “I want you to focus on your free skating routine. You still wanting to do the harder one?”  
  
“I want to do the quadruple lutz,” Robin says quietly, his eyes flickering to fix on his coach.  
  
Ant looks pale at his words. “Nobody has ever done the quadruple lutz, Robin. Certainly not at an Olympic Games,”  
  
“I have to, Toni,” Robin lowers his cup. “I’m already a full point down on Muller. He’s going to go all out on his free skate to ensure he retains that medal,”  
  
“Why don’t you focus on nailing that triple Axel instead-”  
  
“Because I don’t want another bronze medal, Toni,” Robin snaps, cutting off Ant’s words, his hand tightening around the cup. “I want the gold this time, and you should want that too,”  
  
“I do,” Ant replies, his tone annoyingly calm and controlled. “And I know that you want the gold medal, but now is not the time for you to get angry over what has already happened. What is done, is done,”  
  
“But you weren’t happy about the axel execution,”  
  
“Because I know you can do better, Robin!” Ant snaps, the cool exterior slowly melting away. “You let Muller get to you, and you don’t need to. You beat him at the World Championships! You showed that you are capable of doing it, you just need to focus on your own routine and not what he is doing,”  
  
“But I-”  
  
“Listen, 2014 was a mistake. You made a mistake, you can’t beat yourself up for that anymore. If you continue to live in the past, you’ll never achieve anything,” Ant’s tone becomes calm once more, his eyes searching Robin’s face. “You need to let go of that Olympics, Robin,”  
  
Robin closes his eyes, sighing heavily. “I know,” He pushes the cup to one side. “I’m going to bed,”  
  
Ant’s hand clasps him around the wrist and Robin feels his cheeks heat up at the contact. Ant’s fingers feel like fire against his skin. “I mean it, Robin. You have to let 2014 go,”  
  
“Let go of me,” Robin murmurs, trying to wrench his wrist free. He wants to be out of his stupid glittery outfit, out of the make up that is undoubtly smeared across half of his face, he wants to forget about today, about Nico Muller smirking at him, about Ant’s look of disappointment -  
  
“Robin,” Ant’s hand brushes against the older man’s cheek. “You have to let it go. You remember what happened to me in 2010. I let Jev get to me then, you should not make that mistake,” Robin finds himself staring into his coach’s eyes - unable to tear his gaze away from the golden flecks mixed amongst the amber - his warm fingers feel white-hot and Robin swallows deeply, fighting the urge to close the gap between himself and Antonio.  
  
“What happened to him anyway? He just disappeared after that win in 2010,”  
  
“He retired after that. Low-key, of course. He told me that if he won the medal, he would retire. After he did, I thought that it would finally be my shot to get him back four years later but-” He pauses, the smile dropping from his face.  
  
He doesn’t need to explain. Robin knows the story well enough. Antonio had fought hard with his physiotherapy to get back on the ice - but his talus was shattered beyond repair, and though the surgery helped him walk again, he was never the same. He had been within touching distance of the title. Robin remembers Jev standing on the podium, the golden medal shining in the lights of the stadium, the forlorn expression on his face after he was told that Antonio’s injury was potentially career-ending.  
  
“Nobody can take much pleasure in a victory after hearing that,” were the famous words uttered by the French medallist as he stepped in front of the media.  
  
The struggle suffered by Antonio is part of the reason he pushed Michael to allow the Portuguese driver to take up the reins of his fledgling career. Michael wasn’t agreeable to it at first - “he’s never won anything with anyone, Robin, why would you want him?” - but he’d agreed when Robin had threatened early retirement if he didn’t get what he wanted.  
  
It worked.  
  
Robin had won the last two World Championships, the gold medals worn proudly around his neck. But the bronze medal from Russia still haunts him - he knows he can do better. Antonio knows he can do better - it’s the reason that they have done nothing but spend all their free time out on the ice with Antonio barking his orders to perfect Robin’s performance.  
  
“You need to rest up anyway, Robin,” Ant’s voice pushes through his thoughts. “You have a long day tomorrow,”  
  
“I want to run through my free skate program a couple more times,” Robin says, thinking about the difference in points between himself and Nico. “I’ve heard that Nico’s routine is insanely complicated,”  
  
“He’s also doing it to the Backstreet Boys if the rumours are anything to go by. You need to focus on yourself and your own performance, Robin. Who cares what Nico is doing?”  
  
“I want the gold this time,”  
  
“I know you do. But you also need rest, we will run through your routine in the morning,”  
  
Robin opens his mouth as though he wants to argue, but the expression on Ant’s face makes him back down and he relents. Retiring to the bathroom, he strips his face of the make-up that has long since smeared. The glitter falls away from his skin, and he finds himself staring at his own face reflected back at him, the mask finally falling free.  
  
“Please don’t be angry with me,” Ant’s voice is soft behind him.  
  
Robin sighs heavily, closing his eyes. “I just want to make you proud,”  
  
A warm hand clasps at his wrist. Robin bites down on his lip as chocolate eyes lock on his blue ones. “You always make me proud,”  
  
Robin wants nothing more than to close the gap between them but he knows he can’t. Ant has never shown any interest in pursuing anything other than a strictly professional relationship. He can feel his body’s reaction to having Antonio so close. And to prevent anything from happening, particularly not before the biggest day of his career, he smiles gently at his coach for a moment before he pulls away, stuttering out some excuse about getting into bed.  
  
Ant accepts the excuse and Robin hurriedly sheds his costume, replacing it with his pyjamas before he crawls into his bed, trying to ignore the dull ache in his bones. He tries to ignore the growing erection pressing against the thin material of his pyjama pants as Ant walks back into the bedroom, trying not to glance at Ant’s muscular back as his coach slides off his t-shirt, revealing smooth golden skin. Sometimes Robin forgets that they’re the same age due to the longevity of Antonio’s career.  
  
“Goodnight, Robin,” Ant calls out as he climbs into his bed.  
  
“Goodnight,” Robin replies, biting down on his lip as he tries to coax away the warmth curling in his thigh and his heart slapping against his ribcage.  
  
He isn’t sure when he fell asleep, but he wakes up when it’s still dark outside. It’s not the darkness that wakes him, however. It’s the open balcony doors - the faint breeze making the thin drapes billow in the wind, and the sight of Ant’s empty bed. Robin finds himself pulled from the warmth of his sheets to stand in the doorway silently. Ant leans on the balustrade, the breeze gently ruffling his hair as the faint lights from the city illuminate his golden skin and his look of utter serenity.  
  
“You know it’s equally important for my coach to be well-rested tomorrow too,” The words leave Robin’s lips before he can stop them.  
  
Ant’s eyes snap open. “Couldn’t sleep,” He says softly. “Just started thinking about what I did the night before my last Olympics. I couldn’t sleep either,”  
  
“How did you feel that night?” Robin asks, moving to stand next to his coach. “I mean, did anything feel off?”  
  
“I had no indication that my career was going to end, no,” Ant begins, only to close his eyes, biting down on his lip. “I’m sorry, I think it’s still sore, even now,” The silence stretches out between the two men. “Sorry,” Ant murmurs, as he cocks his head slightly to survey Robin. “I just think about what could have been, that I would be competing alongside you and Nico,”  
  
“I wish you were, but at the same time, I think you pushed me to be the best that I could be,” Robin meets the Portuguese man’s gaze. “And I plan on dedicating this gold medal to you tomorrow,”  
  
“Robin-”  
  
“I couldn’t do this without you, Toni,” Robin’s voice is soft. “I mean that,”  
  
Ant smiles at him, and Robin suddenly feels warmth curl in his lower stomach as Ant levels him with a solid gaze, his tongue moving out to dart against dry lips - Robin can’t help but move closer to Ant, his eyes still locked on the Portuguese man.  
  
“Toni-” He murmurs thickly, leaning in to close the gap -  
  
Ant’s eyes suddenly fill with an emotion that Robin cannot place and the taller man pulls away. “Robin, we can’t, it wouldn’t be right-”  
  
Robin wants to argue. He wants to scream at Ant - _ why can’t he feel what I feel? _ \- but he knows better. Ignoring the blush painting his pale cheeks, he utters out an apology before he turns on his heel and disappears back into the room, his heart still thudding against his ribcage in a continuous motion.  
  


* * *

  
Robin wakes up the next morning to find Ant’s bed empty. He pushes away the nausea that seems to curl in the bottom of his stomach as he surveys the neatly-made bed, before he checks his phone.  
  
_ No new messages. _  
  
Maybe he’s gone down already to get breakfast, Robin tells himself. He hurriedly pulls on his tracksuit and his orange jacket, marking him out as one of team Netherlands before he grabs his training bag, trying to ignore the unease building in his lower belly. He has suffered badly with his nerves in the past. His first competition in front of an audience had been a mess and he’d fudged up a double loop jump, something so fundamentally easy for him.  
  
Ant isn’t in the catering hall. Robin helps himself to some muesli, trying to undo the knot that has settled down in his stomach before he joins Nyck and Stoffel, the two speed skaters who have already won a glut of medals between them, including two golds. Robin forces himself to eat, trying to take his mind off last night. He has to focus on his own medal hopes.  
  
But he can’t stop thinking about the way Ant had looked at him, about the empty bed this morning. His spoon stills against the bowl. He pushes it away, worrying his lip as he grabs his bag, ready to make his way to the arena.  
  


* * *

  
Ant isn’t at the arena either. Robin glances around, hoping to spot the bright orange puffer jacket that Ant has taken to wearing at such events, only to be greeted with green, yellow, red and an array of colours, except the one he is looking for. However, he spots a familiar figure on the ice. Nico dances over the ice, before he twists into a triple Axel with ease. Robin counts the rotations and feels the nausea rise up as Nico aces the landing, the blade of his skate hitting the ice with expert precision.  
  
He doesn’t know if he can do this. He’s a whole point behind Nico, and the Swiss man is more or less on the top of his A-Game at the moment. Robin bites at his lip, his eyes still searching for the distinctive orange puffer jacket.   
  
“Are you watching me for tips on how to successfully not fuck up a triple Axel, Frijns?” Nico’s voice cuts through his thoughts and Robin finds the current leader standing in front of him, arms folded and a smug expression painted on his face.  
  
“Why would I need to do that?” Robin snaps back. “I didn’t fuck it up in the last two championships,”  
  
Nico’s smile slips for a moment. “Well, you got lucky, I guess,”  
  
“Lucky?” Robin snorts. “I won, fair and square,”  
  
Nico laughs. “Whatever you say. I intend to make history as the only Swiss skater to successfully defend my gold medal for the second year running,”  
  
“We’ll see about that,”  
  
“I don’t look good in silver, Robin, whereas you do,”  
  
Robin ignores the comment and turns on his heel, walking away from his rival. He can’t be drawn into a petty argument with Nico an hour before he competes, Ant would kill him - he glances at the slowly filling stands once again, his eyes searching for the orange coat.  
  


* * *

  
Robin’s hands shake slightly as he slowly draws on his eyeliner. He knows it’s slightly messier than he’s used to, but he figures that it will add to the effect - he’s skating to the Eve of the War from the War of the Worlds soundtrack, it’s a new piece that he and Ant had worked on for about nine months solid. Robin wanted something that pushed him a little further after having the same music for his free skate programme for two months. He smooths out the non-existent wrinkles in his black shirt, his fingers brushing over the individual crystals that shimmer from the dark fabric, fighting the urge to brush his fingers through his hair. Robin keeps glancing over to the door, waiting for Ant to appear and do his typical routine of combing his unruly hair back into place and redoing his eyeliner - but Ant never appears. Robin takes a deep breath, staring at his own reflection in the mirror, at the green and black glitter decorating his face, hair and seeming to drip down his chest. 

  
“You can do this,” Robin murmurs to himself, but there’s a part of him that wishes that Ant were there to say the words - he might believe them if Ant had said them.  
  
His unease is made worse when he sits down to watch Nico’s performance. The Swiss skater certainly looks the part, skating to an instrumental version of Let It Go - because of course he is - looking like an ice prince in his floaty, ethereal white costume and his hair painted white-blue, his make up cleverly painted to look like ice decorating his face. But Robin knows that the costume is only one part of the act. Nico has to execute his routine perfectly.  
  
The lights dim, and the opening bars of the music begin as Nico stands, poised on the ice.  
  
Robin glances around for Ant one last time as Nico stands, poised on the ice as the opening bars of the music begin.  
  


* * *

  
Nico nails his triple Axel, as always, hitting the ice just at the perfect moment for the music to shift before he shifts into a quadruple Salchow, sending the crowd wild. Robin bites down on his lip as Nico finishes with his party piece, his quadruple toe loop - as the music dies, the crowd’s cheers get louder and Nico stands in the centre of the rink, his smile wide as he takes in the atmosphere, his chest still heaving from the exertion.  
  
Robin knows at that moment, before the scores have even been announced, he’s going to have to do the quadruple Lutz and he’s going to have to nail it perfectly to have any chance of that gold medal. Ant almost told him to open with the jump, but Robin fancies his chances of performing it in the second half to get the 10% bonus. He knows Ant will kill him - but the Portuguese man is still nowhere to be seen.  
  
Robin slides off his team jacket and takes a deep breath. He’s next. It’s now or never.  
  
He pushes away the thoughts of the bronze medal in Russia, of the sheer disappointment of having a colour other than gold around his neck. As he hits the ice, he feels all the fear melt away - the ice has always served as his home, when nowhere else had. The murmurs from the crowd slowly quieten as Robin holds his position and the music starts in a crescendo of violins. He takes another breath before he glances over to the sidelines, still trying to find the orange puffer coat, the only person that he wants to see watching arguably the most important skate of his career, but Ant is not there.  
  
_ Quadruple Lutz, it is _ \- Robin thinks to himself as the blade of his skate hits the ice.  
  
He smashes his first element - a quad toe - and he hears the crowd go wild over the swell of his music, his right leg lifting all the way to get a half revolution in before he takes into the air, moving cleanly over the ice and into his spin sequence.  
  
A deep breath before he steers himself into position for his triple Axel. He tries not to think about the day before, only focusing on keeping his body tight and ensuring he doesn’t underrotate - time seems to stop still as he leaves the ice, his body twisting through the air, the only sound is that of his own soundtrack and then the blade of his skate hitting the ice just at the right moment and the crowd roar as he nails the landing, trying to keep his face as nonchalant as possible.  
  
_ Don’t get too cocky, Frijns _ , he hears Ant’s voice in his head as he launches into his signature sit spin with twist variation to the delight of the crowd as the music grows quieter for his choreographic element, gliding over the ice as though they are one.  
  
Two quadruple Salchows, because anything Nico can do, Robin can do better.  
  
Half flip jump, into step sequence.  
  
The crescendo of the music approaches and Robin knows it’s time. Ant will kill him for deviating away from the original ending - a quadruple flip will give Robin a 11.00 score if executed perfectly, but the Lutz would gift 11.50 and Robin knows that it’s so close between himself and Nico. He builds up his speed, twisting his body ready for the take-off position and this time, everything seems to stop as he feels the familiar sensation of being weightless, the air hitting his face as he twists his body - once, twice, three, four times - and the roar of the crowd is deafening as he hits the ice perfectly.  
  
He’s done it, he’s landed a quadruple Lutz at the Olympics.  
  
The music fades away as Robin moves into his finishing position, but the crowd still cheer, a large number of Dutch flags that Robin hadn’t noticed before are visible in the crowd as he takes a bow, trying to remain calm and composed, ignoring his heart slamming against his ribcage. He isn’t sure how he manages to get off the ice - the crowd’s cheers still ringing in his head - only to find Ant standing at the sidelines, tears falling down his cheeks.  
  
“Ant, where have you been?” He asks hoarsely, blinking twice as though the Portuguese man is nothing but a mirage.  
  
“You really think I wouldn’t come and see you skate?” Ant murmurs thickly, his arms folding around Robin as he pulls the Dutchman closer. “I told you not to do that quadruple Lutz, you fucking idiot,” His hair moves to twist through Robin’s hair. “You looked amazing out there,”  
  
“I thought you left,”  
  
Ant shakes his head. “I didn’t want to distract you before your performance,”  
  
“I thought I scared you off after last night,” Robin whispers against Ant’s ear.  
  
The Portuguese coach shakes his head. “No, no. I just didn’t want anything standing in the way of your routine today. I’m sorry,”  
  
Robin is about to reply, when the scores finally flash up on the board and he cannot describe the feeling - his name is in the top position, and by a full point and a half. He’s done it. He’s won the gold medal. The roar of the crowd is nothing compared to the delighted roar of Ant all but snatching Robin up into his arms and kissing him on the lips.  
  
The crowd cheers louder at the gesture, but Robin barely notices, all his attention swallowed up by how good Ant’s lips feel against his own, soft, warm, slightly chapped -  
  
Ant reluctantly tears his lips away after what feels like a lifetime, staring into Robin’s eyes. “You have no idea how much I wanted to do that,”  
  
“I think I do,” Robin whispers back before he pulls away, tangling his hand together with Ant’s.  
  



End file.
